Title: Playing God For A Night

Character: Tom Riddle Junior

Notes: Imagine my disgust when I realised that I hadn't written a Voldie-centric fic. The horror! I sucked this out of my head (much like getting blood from a resurrection stone) in thirty minutes, but I was happy with it, so I posted. I hope you enjoy!

Tom, Tom - Tommy boy!

You lasted a long time -

perhaps you'll get credit for that.

But don't you see that

your castle's falling down?

Hang onto that crown,


otherwise it'll choke you,

and keep a hold of that staff, darling,

before it can break you.

Give God a challenge,

because devils shouldn't be this pretty.


Oh, Tommy boy,

don't you think you're special?

You can speak to snakes, lad,

and isn't that great?

You can make people HURT without trying,

and who wouldn't want to do that?

You forget,

dear Tommy boy,

that karma's only a bitch

((if you are)).


Tommy boy,

what a bastard you grew up to be.

((Don't you just love it?))

Controlling, manipulative,

and oh so handsome,

who wouldn't want to be you?

The pride of Slytherin,

the heir,

if you so dare to believe.

Tom -

you're making your daddy proud!


Sweet Tommy boy,

you've got your band of followers,

so that means you're powerful, right?

Every king needs his army,

his pawns,

the expendables;

after all, it's so fun to play God for a night.

Yeah, they're not the

brains of the century,

but who cares,

'cause they're willing

(and even if they're not, well -

they will be.)


Come on, Tommy boy;

today's not the day to be hesitant.

A flick of the wrist

is all that's needed,

maybe a smile for added effect.

A few muttered words that come easily, right?

The touch of remorse that dies with them

was never needed, Tom.


After all, who'd want to have a heart?


Tommy boy, Tommy boy,

look out of the window -

what do you see?

That's your empire, son.

They're your streets, your people, and no one,

you hear that,

no one is going to take them from you.

Especially not that baby boy who threatens all,

lurking from inside...

Pull that cloak over your head

((who's hiding?))

and step towards the darkened house,

'cause if you want a job done...


Tommy boy,

you know, your drawbridge has snapped in half -

your windows are boarded up -

your castle walls are crumbling, Tom.

{{Get out, get out!}}

The moat's overflowing,

the people are gone,

and what do you have left?

A broken staff with vines twisted round it,

and a rusty old crown

that no one cares for but you.


King Tommy boy,

the kingdom's not yours anymore,

and these walls won't protect you -

they've all turned against you.

Don't you understand?

You're king of nothing!

Why are you still holding onto your

fragile existence,

that ghost of better times,

when you were king of a country

that needed you?


Dear Tommy boy,

Your motto never was to die young,

and leave a pretty corpse;

'cause hey,

only the good die young,

but the best live forever, Tommy boy.

You had your reign,

and how short it was, in the end.

((Better than nothing, though.))

You almost lived forever,

but don't you realise,

that Harry Potter isn't in the history books

for being the Boy Who Almost Lived,

now is he?


Tom, Tom - Tommy boy!

You played God

for a night,

and wasn't it great?

((Never thinking what side, exactly,

you got your mean streak from.))

You're needed in another person's empire, son,

and you're not so special there.

You've had your time, Tom,

so hang up your crown,

lay down your staff,

and GO!

Daddy's waiting, after all,

and don't you know that God doesn't play fair?